Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy, and faith: Part 2
The first part is here.
To begin with, I'd like to make a disclaimer: I don't want to claim or 'appropriate' writers as Christians. What they believe/d in their hearts at any particular moment, and how they act/ed from day to day, is/was really known only to them. Nor do I want to say that they write/wrote "Christian" fiction. These days that usually means that a writer 1) uses the word Jesus a lot, 2) doesn't allow his characters to have extra-marital sex, 3) preaches morning noon and night, and 4) is of little interest to non-religious folks. On the contrary, you can be an avid fan of these writers without having any faith commitment yourself. Be that as it may, most of these people have mentioned their religious beliefs in interviews, and the discerning eye can find sincere religious symbolism in their work without too much difficulty.
With that out of the way, I want to outline the core books and authors - the spine of my topic, so to speak. I know I'll be missing a lot of people (I understand there's a lot of theological symbolism in The Brothers Grimm, for example - and then of course there's A Christmas Carol), but I've got to start somewhere. In this case, it's the beginning of the twentieth century.
First up is George MacDonald (1824-1905). I don't know too much about him, but he was Scottish and wrote what he called 'fairy-stories.' He was a devout Christian (probably a Presbyterian?) who had interesting ideas about conveying important concepts through fantasy literature. He's best remembered for his children's books The Princess and The Goblin, and At The Back Of The North Wind. His works and his theories had a big impact on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Lewis even places MacDonald in Heaven in his The Great Divorce. [Edited to add: click here and here to learn more.]
Next comes prolific author and Catholic apologist G.K.Chesterton (1837-1936.) He figures in this story for his fantastical fiction - chiefly The Man Who Was Thursday, but including books like The Napoleon of Notting Hill and some of the Father Brown stories. Chesterton encouraged a sense of awe, of wonder in the midst of everyday life.
From here we come to the Inklings - specifically Charles Williams (1886-1945), J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) and C.S. Lewis (1898-1963). Because they are so well known, I won't say too much about them. Tolkien, a Catholic and Lewis, an atheist-turned-Anglican (yes, it does work both ways!), have had an enormous impact on the fantasy genre. The key texts here are Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Lewis' seven-volume Chronicles of Narnia, and also his less-well-known science fiction trilogy: Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. Williams, an Anglican, was an influence on both Lewis (an influence that comes through clearly in That Hideous Strength) and their mutual friend Dorothy Sayers. His works, such as Descent Into Hell, and The Greater Trumps, could be described as mystical thrillers, and have more in common with Chesterton's work than with the high fantasy of Lewis and Tolkien.
Skipping over the Atlantic, we come to writers working in the American science fiction scene. Anthony Boucher (a pen name for Anthony Parker White, 1911-1968), was a hard-working magazine editor who helped many later famous authors get their start. He did some writing himself, mostly of short stories. He is best remembered for one short story: "The Quest for Saint Aquin," which is widely recognized as a classic of Catholic science fiction.
Cordwainer Smith (a pen name for Paul Linebarger, 1913-1966) was a multilingual, highly educated and widely travelled expert on foreign relations and psychological warfare. He wrote wildly inventive science fiction, which influenced many other authors. He's generally been forgotten by the public, except for two stories which are often anthologized: "Scanners Live in Vain," and "The Game of Rat and Dragon." In the last decade of his life he became a devout, if slightly unorthodox (for the time) Episcopalian. Some critics dismiss this as insignificant, but over half of his stories were published in this period, and even an earlier story like "Scanners" can been read as containing subtle religious symbolism. A number of his linked 'Instrumentality' stories deal with a revival of Christian faith among genetically modified slave animals. His story "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" is a wonderful example of this plotline.
James Blish (1921-1975) was, for the most part, an atheist during his writing career, though it is reported that he died an Anglican and was buried as one. Later in life he became interested in Christian theology and wrote a group of works which he referred to as the 'After Such Knowledge' books. By far the most famous is A Case of Conscience, a crisply written novel about a Jesuit scientist - a sympathetic but ambiguous examination of theological and moral reasoning in an future alien setting. It's widely acclaimed as a classic in the science fiction field.
Walter M. Miller (1923-1996) produced another such classic: A Canticle for Leibowitz. Told through three inter-linked sections, it depicts a post-nuclear-war Catholic Church struggling to rebuild civilization in a new Dark Age, through a new Renaissance and a new modernity. On topics such as church history, nuclear war, science & religion, the history of societies, and ethics, it is simply brilliant. Miller was a Catholic convert at the time. He was later upset by the Second Vatican Council and lost his faith, becoming a "Zen atheist."
Madeleine L'Engle (1918-), an Episcopalian, published her much-loved children's fantasy A Wrinkle In Time in 1962. She has continued to write science fiction and fantasy, mainly for younger readers, while writing novels and works of theological reflection for adults.
In the contemporary science fiction genre, we come to the writers that I think of as The Big Three: Gene Wolfe (1931-), Connie Willis (1945-) and Tim Powers (1952-).
Wolfe, a Catholic, has become an influential Grand Old Man in both science fiction and fantasy. The quality of his prose is very high and his ideas are complex. His early works, such as Peace and The Fifth Head of Cerberus, read like postmodern stories-within-stories. His most famous books, though, are epic, in what might be called a neo-classical style. His multi-volume works The Book of the New Sun, The Book of the Long Sun and The Book of the Short Sun are almost unrivalled in contemporary science fiction or fantasy for depth and scope, without losing their readability. Another good introduction is his story collection The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, and Other Stories.
Connie Willis has won more Hugo and Nebula awards than any other writer, and is one of the most popular female sf authors. Her background is Lutheran and more recently, Congregationalist (United Church of Christ, I believe). While she generally seems to come from the liberal side of things, she often examines dark subject matter (such as the Black Plague, in Doomsday Book) and has a tough-minded approach to theology. Her disdain for spiritualism and superstition leads some people to label her a religious skeptic, but almost invariably she ends up contrasting fuzzy, sentimental superstition with an intellectually serious and personally disciplined Christianity. Her religious symbolism can be fairly subtle, as in Passage, her most recent major novel. Those curious might wish to begin with her collection Fire Watch, particularly the story "Samaritan."
Tim Powers, a Catholic, was a friend of Philip K. Dick. His popular books are mystical thrillers, like G.K. Chesterton's or Charles Williams,' but with more sex and adrenaline. Often he'll retell historical events with the real underlying reasons being discovered an occult subtext. His most openly Catholic work is the supernatural spy thriller Declare, which is something like a meticulously researched John LeCarre novel that just happens to incorporate fallen angels. Earlier books are more ambiguous, like the postapocalyptic Dinner at Deviant's Palace, which can be read as an anti-religious polemic, or as being about a Christ figure battling an Anti-Christ.
I'll round up this survey with two non-Christians:
Orson Scott Card (1951-), is a very popular sf author who is also a Mormon. While the quality of his work can vary quite a bit, his Ender's Game is an much-loved classic. [Edited to add: Mormon readers have reminded me that they are indeed Christians, albeit non-mainstream ones. See the comments section for more on this.]
Mary Doria Russell (1950-) a paleo-anthropologist, was raised as a Catholic, became and remained an atheist for many years, and then converted to Judaism, though she remains something of an agnostic. She burst onto the science fiction scene in 1996 with a wonderful first novel, The Sparrow, the story of a Jesuit expedition to an alien planet. It's a fascinating, harrowing work, full of anthropological insights and theological quandaries, and she skillfully portrays a wide range of beliefs, including the inner world of a celibate bridal mystic. The sequel, Children of God, was not as well received, but to my mind the two works must be read together. Russell has gone on to write a historical novel, A Thread of Grace.
Well, that's it - my breakneck tour of Christianity in sf and fantasy is complete for now. Next time I'll talk about some lesser-known authors.
Part 3 is here.
To begin with, I'd like to make a disclaimer: I don't want to claim or 'appropriate' writers as Christians. What they believe/d in their hearts at any particular moment, and how they act/ed from day to day, is/was really known only to them. Nor do I want to say that they write/wrote "Christian" fiction. These days that usually means that a writer 1) uses the word Jesus a lot, 2) doesn't allow his characters to have extra-marital sex, 3) preaches morning noon and night, and 4) is of little interest to non-religious folks. On the contrary, you can be an avid fan of these writers without having any faith commitment yourself. Be that as it may, most of these people have mentioned their religious beliefs in interviews, and the discerning eye can find sincere religious symbolism in their work without too much difficulty.
With that out of the way, I want to outline the core books and authors - the spine of my topic, so to speak. I know I'll be missing a lot of people (I understand there's a lot of theological symbolism in The Brothers Grimm, for example - and then of course there's A Christmas Carol), but I've got to start somewhere. In this case, it's the beginning of the twentieth century.
First up is George MacDonald (1824-1905). I don't know too much about him, but he was Scottish and wrote what he called 'fairy-stories.' He was a devout Christian (probably a Presbyterian?) who had interesting ideas about conveying important concepts through fantasy literature. He's best remembered for his children's books The Princess and The Goblin, and At The Back Of The North Wind. His works and his theories had a big impact on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Lewis even places MacDonald in Heaven in his The Great Divorce. [Edited to add: click here and here to learn more.]
Next comes prolific author and Catholic apologist G.K.Chesterton (1837-1936.) He figures in this story for his fantastical fiction - chiefly The Man Who Was Thursday, but including books like The Napoleon of Notting Hill and some of the Father Brown stories. Chesterton encouraged a sense of awe, of wonder in the midst of everyday life.
From here we come to the Inklings - specifically Charles Williams (1886-1945), J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) and C.S. Lewis (1898-1963). Because they are so well known, I won't say too much about them. Tolkien, a Catholic and Lewis, an atheist-turned-Anglican (yes, it does work both ways!), have had an enormous impact on the fantasy genre. The key texts here are Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Lewis' seven-volume Chronicles of Narnia, and also his less-well-known science fiction trilogy: Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. Williams, an Anglican, was an influence on both Lewis (an influence that comes through clearly in That Hideous Strength) and their mutual friend Dorothy Sayers. His works, such as Descent Into Hell, and The Greater Trumps, could be described as mystical thrillers, and have more in common with Chesterton's work than with the high fantasy of Lewis and Tolkien.
Skipping over the Atlantic, we come to writers working in the American science fiction scene. Anthony Boucher (a pen name for Anthony Parker White, 1911-1968), was a hard-working magazine editor who helped many later famous authors get their start. He did some writing himself, mostly of short stories. He is best remembered for one short story: "The Quest for Saint Aquin," which is widely recognized as a classic of Catholic science fiction.
Cordwainer Smith (a pen name for Paul Linebarger, 1913-1966) was a multilingual, highly educated and widely travelled expert on foreign relations and psychological warfare. He wrote wildly inventive science fiction, which influenced many other authors. He's generally been forgotten by the public, except for two stories which are often anthologized: "Scanners Live in Vain," and "The Game of Rat and Dragon." In the last decade of his life he became a devout, if slightly unorthodox (for the time) Episcopalian. Some critics dismiss this as insignificant, but over half of his stories were published in this period, and even an earlier story like "Scanners" can been read as containing subtle religious symbolism. A number of his linked 'Instrumentality' stories deal with a revival of Christian faith among genetically modified slave animals. His story "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" is a wonderful example of this plotline.
James Blish (1921-1975) was, for the most part, an atheist during his writing career, though it is reported that he died an Anglican and was buried as one. Later in life he became interested in Christian theology and wrote a group of works which he referred to as the 'After Such Knowledge' books. By far the most famous is A Case of Conscience, a crisply written novel about a Jesuit scientist - a sympathetic but ambiguous examination of theological and moral reasoning in an future alien setting. It's widely acclaimed as a classic in the science fiction field.
Walter M. Miller (1923-1996) produced another such classic: A Canticle for Leibowitz. Told through three inter-linked sections, it depicts a post-nuclear-war Catholic Church struggling to rebuild civilization in a new Dark Age, through a new Renaissance and a new modernity. On topics such as church history, nuclear war, science & religion, the history of societies, and ethics, it is simply brilliant. Miller was a Catholic convert at the time. He was later upset by the Second Vatican Council and lost his faith, becoming a "Zen atheist."
Madeleine L'Engle (1918-), an Episcopalian, published her much-loved children's fantasy A Wrinkle In Time in 1962. She has continued to write science fiction and fantasy, mainly for younger readers, while writing novels and works of theological reflection for adults.
In the contemporary science fiction genre, we come to the writers that I think of as The Big Three: Gene Wolfe (1931-), Connie Willis (1945-) and Tim Powers (1952-).
Wolfe, a Catholic, has become an influential Grand Old Man in both science fiction and fantasy. The quality of his prose is very high and his ideas are complex. His early works, such as Peace and The Fifth Head of Cerberus, read like postmodern stories-within-stories. His most famous books, though, are epic, in what might be called a neo-classical style. His multi-volume works The Book of the New Sun, The Book of the Long Sun and The Book of the Short Sun are almost unrivalled in contemporary science fiction or fantasy for depth and scope, without losing their readability. Another good introduction is his story collection The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, and Other Stories.
Connie Willis has won more Hugo and Nebula awards than any other writer, and is one of the most popular female sf authors. Her background is Lutheran and more recently, Congregationalist (United Church of Christ, I believe). While she generally seems to come from the liberal side of things, she often examines dark subject matter (such as the Black Plague, in Doomsday Book) and has a tough-minded approach to theology. Her disdain for spiritualism and superstition leads some people to label her a religious skeptic, but almost invariably she ends up contrasting fuzzy, sentimental superstition with an intellectually serious and personally disciplined Christianity. Her religious symbolism can be fairly subtle, as in Passage, her most recent major novel. Those curious might wish to begin with her collection Fire Watch, particularly the story "Samaritan."
Tim Powers, a Catholic, was a friend of Philip K. Dick. His popular books are mystical thrillers, like G.K. Chesterton's or Charles Williams,' but with more sex and adrenaline. Often he'll retell historical events with the real underlying reasons being discovered an occult subtext. His most openly Catholic work is the supernatural spy thriller Declare, which is something like a meticulously researched John LeCarre novel that just happens to incorporate fallen angels. Earlier books are more ambiguous, like the postapocalyptic Dinner at Deviant's Palace, which can be read as an anti-religious polemic, or as being about a Christ figure battling an Anti-Christ.
I'll round up this survey with two non-Christians:
Orson Scott Card (1951-), is a very popular sf author who is also a Mormon. While the quality of his work can vary quite a bit, his Ender's Game is an much-loved classic. [Edited to add: Mormon readers have reminded me that they are indeed Christians, albeit non-mainstream ones. See the comments section for more on this.]
Mary Doria Russell (1950-) a paleo-anthropologist, was raised as a Catholic, became and remained an atheist for many years, and then converted to Judaism, though she remains something of an agnostic. She burst onto the science fiction scene in 1996 with a wonderful first novel, The Sparrow, the story of a Jesuit expedition to an alien planet. It's a fascinating, harrowing work, full of anthropological insights and theological quandaries, and she skillfully portrays a wide range of beliefs, including the inner world of a celibate bridal mystic. The sequel, Children of God, was not as well received, but to my mind the two works must be read together. Russell has gone on to write a historical novel, A Thread of Grace.
Well, that's it - my breakneck tour of Christianity in sf and fantasy is complete for now. Next time I'll talk about some lesser-known authors.
Part 3 is here.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy, and faith: Part 1
What does science fiction & fantasy literature have to do with religion, or more specifically, Christianity?
Perhaps I should start with a biographical explanation. I first fell in love with the genres, as did so many other people, through reading the work of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Later, soon after high school, I discovered Gene Wolfe, and was captivated all over again.
I gradually became aware of the fact that Lewis, an Anglican, was well known as a Christian thinker, and that his fiction was heavily imbued with Christian themes. I also learned of Lewis' friendship with Tolkien, and of Tolkien's Catholicism. Then I began to understand the ways in which Tolkien's beliefs had shaped his writings. His approach to religious ideas is perhaps more subtle than Lewis', but no less devout. I had always been moved by the religious symbolism in Wolfe's work, and learned that he was also a Catholic.
I did quite a bit of indiscriminate science-fiction-and-fantasy reading between the ages of 9 and 19, and I continue to read it fairly frequently. Around age 20 I started to seriously question my religious beliefs (I had been raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses). During this time I read a lot of non-fiction on science, history, philosophy, and theology, as well as works on how they relate to one another. However (mainly through their fiction) Tolkien, Lewis and particularly Wolfe were important intellectual companions and role models for me in thinking about those topics. I found that their science fiction and fantasy grappled with ethical, philosophical and scientific questions in profound ways without discounting the theological dimension. I believe they were important in helping me decide to embrace a modern, scientific worldview, while still holding on to what I felt was central in my religious upbringing. In short, I left the JWs and after a hiatus began attending an Anglican church.
At some point after that I started to become curious about which other sf & fantasy authors had religious commitments or dealt with religious themes. I discovered that a number of widely acclaimed writers had such commitments and/or seriously tackled religious questions.
I also became aware of a disconnect: Many famous science fiction writers were atheists and agnostics, and so were many fans. The sf culture, particularly, often did not take religious beliefs very seriously, and sometimes held them in contempt. At the same time, authors who were clearly religious or at least sympathetic to religious concerns were very popular, and they seemed to get along well with their colleagues. But I noticed that many non-religious fans seemed somewhat baffled or dismissive of the religious themes in their work. I also noticed that there wasn't much knowledge of these authors (aside from Lewis and Tolkien) among reading Christians. Sometimes this was the result of literary snobbery, and at other times simply sprang from preconceptions about fantasy and science fiction.
So three years ago I started a small study group at my church in which participants would read sf/fantasy short stories and discuss them, particularly focusing on the religious concepts. I wanted to build a few bridges. I did a lot of digging to find good material to study. We also ended up reading a novel and watching some relevant movies together.
I'd like to start a series of blog posts on the same topic. There was a blog called "The High Crusade" dedicated to the topic, but it disappeared before it covered much ground. So I guess I'll be taking up the banner myself.
Part Two is here.
Perhaps I should start with a biographical explanation. I first fell in love with the genres, as did so many other people, through reading the work of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Later, soon after high school, I discovered Gene Wolfe, and was captivated all over again.
I gradually became aware of the fact that Lewis, an Anglican, was well known as a Christian thinker, and that his fiction was heavily imbued with Christian themes. I also learned of Lewis' friendship with Tolkien, and of Tolkien's Catholicism. Then I began to understand the ways in which Tolkien's beliefs had shaped his writings. His approach to religious ideas is perhaps more subtle than Lewis', but no less devout. I had always been moved by the religious symbolism in Wolfe's work, and learned that he was also a Catholic.
I did quite a bit of indiscriminate science-fiction-and-fantasy reading between the ages of 9 and 19, and I continue to read it fairly frequently. Around age 20 I started to seriously question my religious beliefs (I had been raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses). During this time I read a lot of non-fiction on science, history, philosophy, and theology, as well as works on how they relate to one another. However (mainly through their fiction) Tolkien, Lewis and particularly Wolfe were important intellectual companions and role models for me in thinking about those topics. I found that their science fiction and fantasy grappled with ethical, philosophical and scientific questions in profound ways without discounting the theological dimension. I believe they were important in helping me decide to embrace a modern, scientific worldview, while still holding on to what I felt was central in my religious upbringing. In short, I left the JWs and after a hiatus began attending an Anglican church.
At some point after that I started to become curious about which other sf & fantasy authors had religious commitments or dealt with religious themes. I discovered that a number of widely acclaimed writers had such commitments and/or seriously tackled religious questions.
I also became aware of a disconnect: Many famous science fiction writers were atheists and agnostics, and so were many fans. The sf culture, particularly, often did not take religious beliefs very seriously, and sometimes held them in contempt. At the same time, authors who were clearly religious or at least sympathetic to religious concerns were very popular, and they seemed to get along well with their colleagues. But I noticed that many non-religious fans seemed somewhat baffled or dismissive of the religious themes in their work. I also noticed that there wasn't much knowledge of these authors (aside from Lewis and Tolkien) among reading Christians. Sometimes this was the result of literary snobbery, and at other times simply sprang from preconceptions about fantasy and science fiction.
So three years ago I started a small study group at my church in which participants would read sf/fantasy short stories and discuss them, particularly focusing on the religious concepts. I wanted to build a few bridges. I did a lot of digging to find good material to study. We also ended up reading a novel and watching some relevant movies together.
I'd like to start a series of blog posts on the same topic. There was a blog called "The High Crusade" dedicated to the topic, but it disappeared before it covered much ground. So I guess I'll be taking up the banner myself.
Part Two is here.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Feminism & respect
I figure it's time to do what I created this blog for (mainly) - reflect on ideas inspired by other people's blogs! Yes, Blog is a vicious circle. Or perhaps a virtuous one. YOU decide!
Anyways, the patron saint* of this blog... or maybe the godmother... well, let's call her the instigator of this blog (see the first post) posted something about feminism today. You should read it. It got me thinking about something I came across recently on respect.
OK, see, I would consider myself a feminist, or if males can't be real feminists, a friend of feminists. However, the roots of this attitude in my life don't come from feminist theory or anything so obvious. I got it from my mother. My mother was raised in a fairly conservative home, is one of Jehovah's Witnesses, and has always subscribed to a 'male headship' doctrine of marriage. On the other hand, she married later in life and had already learned to be an independent person when she did. In words and actions, she conveyed the idea that women are capable, intelligent and resourceful human beings who shouldn't be stereotyped, pushed around or treated as second-class citizens.
Now, to jump to my second idea. I was reading Returning to the Teachings by Rupert Ross, which is about First Nations approaches to restorative justice. The concepts he was discussing got me thinking about the traditional aboriginal teaching on respect - from what I've heard about it, that spirituality stresses respect as an active and central virtue, an idea which has always resonated with me. The teaching (once again, from my limited understanding) is that human beings must have respect for one another, for living things and for the physical world, because they are only a small part of a much larger web of life. Further, all things are imbued with spirits and come from the same Creator.
That same day I bought a little book compiled by Wendell Berry, the poet and environmentalist, called Blessed Are the Peacemakers. It consists of Berry's selections from the teachings of Christ on love, compassion and forgiveness, and two short essays reflecting on them. Berry asks "Why was the unbounding of this love so important to Jesus?" and goes on to refer to the biblical idea that, since all humans are created in the image of God, they are worthy of respect. But then (p. 64-66):
"Do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasure, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself."
Which I think links the need for honesty to the virtue of respect very effectively. Anyways, it seems to me that aboriginal spirituality, and three different brands of Christianity (non-denominational Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Russian Orthodox) overlap on this point.
Now, what does all this have to do with feminism? I guess what I'm getting at is that you don't have to be ideologically educated in explicit feminist thought (though I believe it is an important and hard-earned philosophy) to hold the respectful values which can lead to feminist attitudes. I suspect my mother's traditional upbringing and beliefs informed her 'feminist' stance more than most people would think.
My friend wrote:
I think my mother would say much the same thing.
*I suppose the real patron saint of this blog is St. Isidore of Seville. Or perhaps St. Jude. You know, lost causes and all that.
Anyways, the patron saint* of this blog... or maybe the godmother... well, let's call her the instigator of this blog (see the first post) posted something about feminism today. You should read it. It got me thinking about something I came across recently on respect.
OK, see, I would consider myself a feminist, or if males can't be real feminists, a friend of feminists. However, the roots of this attitude in my life don't come from feminist theory or anything so obvious. I got it from my mother. My mother was raised in a fairly conservative home, is one of Jehovah's Witnesses, and has always subscribed to a 'male headship' doctrine of marriage. On the other hand, she married later in life and had already learned to be an independent person when she did. In words and actions, she conveyed the idea that women are capable, intelligent and resourceful human beings who shouldn't be stereotyped, pushed around or treated as second-class citizens.
Now, to jump to my second idea. I was reading Returning to the Teachings by Rupert Ross, which is about First Nations approaches to restorative justice. The concepts he was discussing got me thinking about the traditional aboriginal teaching on respect - from what I've heard about it, that spirituality stresses respect as an active and central virtue, an idea which has always resonated with me. The teaching (once again, from my limited understanding) is that human beings must have respect for one another, for living things and for the physical world, because they are only a small part of a much larger web of life. Further, all things are imbued with spirits and come from the same Creator.
That same day I bought a little book compiled by Wendell Berry, the poet and environmentalist, called Blessed Are the Peacemakers. It consists of Berry's selections from the teachings of Christ on love, compassion and forgiveness, and two short essays reflecting on them. Berry asks "Why was the unbounding of this love so important to Jesus?" and goes on to refer to the biblical idea that, since all humans are created in the image of God, they are worthy of respect. But then (p. 64-66):
"It is certainly something we need to bear anxiously in mind. But is also too human-centred, too potentially egotistical, to leave alone. I think Jesus recommended the Samaritan's loving-kindness, what certain older writers called "holy living," simply as a matter of piety, for the Samaritan was living in what Jesus understood to be a holy world. The foreground of the Gospels is occupied by human beings and the issues of their connection to one another and to God. But there is a background, and the background more often than not is the world in the best sense of the word, the world as made, approved, loved, sustained, and finally to be redeemed by God. Much of the action and the talk of the Gospels takes place outdoors: on mountainsides, lake shores, river banks, in fields and pastures, places populated not only by humans but by animals and plants, both domestic and wild. And these non-human creatures, sheep and lilies and birds, are always represented as worthy of, or as flourishing within, the love and the care of God. ... And so the Samaritan reaches out in love to help his enemy, breaking all the customary boundaries, because he has clearly seen in his enemy not only a neighbour, not only a fellow human or a fellow creature, but a fellow sharer in the life of God."
This struck me as saying substantially the same thing as the aboriginal idea. The next day I came across two more quotes which, I believe, support the same concept:
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills -
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn't always understand.
Czeslaw Milsoz
and then this, from the character Father Zosima in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov:
"Do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasure, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself."
Now, what does all this have to do with feminism? I guess what I'm getting at is that you don't have to be ideologically educated in explicit feminist thought (though I believe it is an important and hard-earned philosophy) to hold the respectful values which can lead to feminist attitudes. I suspect my mother's traditional upbringing and beliefs informed her 'feminist' stance more than most people would think.
My friend wrote:
"Complaining comes naturally to me, but feminism does not. I feel very weird about the label, for one thing, and it doesn't accurately describe my views. For me, it's not really about women, it's about equality. I know that not everyone can be equal in all things, but no one should be discriminated against or ignored."
I think my mother would say much the same thing.
*I suppose the real patron saint of this blog is St. Isidore of Seville. Or perhaps St. Jude. You know, lost causes and all that.
The name
I should probably explain the title of the blog. It's from Gene Wolfe's The Book of the New Sun.The book is set in the far future, when the sun is getting old and red. The Claw is a relic which the protagonist, Severian, finds in his travels. It reportedly belonged to a legendary character called The Conciliator, who, it is believed, will return to 'Urth' someday as the New Sun, bringing light and life back to a dying planet.
This may sound like a not-so-interesting pulp fantasy novel, and that's certainly where Wolfe has gotten some of these ideas from. But to call it a pulp fantasy novel would be like calling Hamlet a rabble-rousing revenge fantasy. I've sung Wolfe's praises enough in my life, so I'll just say that he's probably my favorite author, and that it's no accident that critics compare him to Dickens, Nabokov, Melville, Borges, and other famous types. (Yes, I have read books by them and I can see where the critics are coming from!)
The cover art is by Don Maitz, a prolific fantasy artist.
Mr. Wolfe doesn't have too much of a web presence - the most notable fan-site is by Paul Duggan.
Why did I pick the name for my blog? It sounds catchy, I love Wolfe's book, and it wasn't taken yet!
I hope.
The last straw
I'd been tenaciously avoiding the temptations of Blog for several years now.
I had good reasons:
1. I don't have the time to spare.
2. I already spend too much time in an online community (a.k.a. Eunoia) with assorted friends.
3. I don't have anything original to say.
4. Nobody would read it.
When the desire for Blog came to me, it would whisper rationalizations in my ear, in a sort of sly, snivelling Gollum-voice:
You read many blogsss. Having your own blog would let you tie them all together, preciousss! You would use it to do good thingsss, to say nice thingsss about the good blogsess, yesss you would!
All the othersss has one of their ownsess. You don't exist without one, no, no!
All the othersss need to know what you're thinking, preciouss. Your opinion is ssso important, the mossst importantest, yess. Why lose your brilliant ideassess, precious? Publish them all, waste your time, argue with strangersss, talk about your petssses, complain about everything, you deserve it, you need it YES YESSS YESSSS!
Up until today I had successfully ignored these sweet and obviously corrupting words of seduction. But then the last straw came. Let's just call her... C. Or maybe that's too obvious. Let's call her, a letter of the alphabet.
A letter of the alphabet is a friend who lives a few hours away in a scenic city in a valley and who I've been reconnecting with. (Whom I've been reconnecting with?) Anyways, the point is:
She just created a blog. With a catchy title. From a song I love. And that was it, man. I was sold. I said, "If she's going create a blog (and hey, blogs are a good way to connect with people who live some distance away!) with a catchy title that I should've thought of, from a song I love, then I'm going to create one too. Damn the torpedos."
Somewhere in the distance I can hear my common sense yelling "Don't do it! You have a cold! You're not thinking straight! Don't publish it! Whatever you do, don't press that button...
I had good reasons:
1. I don't have the time to spare.
2. I already spend too much time in an online community (a.k.a. Eunoia) with assorted friends.
3. I don't have anything original to say.
4. Nobody would read it.
When the desire for Blog came to me, it would whisper rationalizations in my ear, in a sort of sly, snivelling Gollum-voice:
You read many blogsss. Having your own blog would let you tie them all together, preciousss! You would use it to do good thingsss, to say nice thingsss about the good blogsess, yesss you would!
All the othersss has one of their ownsess. You don't exist without one, no, no!
All the othersss need to know what you're thinking, preciouss. Your opinion is ssso important, the mossst importantest, yess. Why lose your brilliant ideassess, precious? Publish them all, waste your time, argue with strangersss, talk about your petssses, complain about everything, you deserve it, you need it YES YESSS YESSSS!
Up until today I had successfully ignored these sweet and obviously corrupting words of seduction. But then the last straw came. Let's just call her... C. Or maybe that's too obvious. Let's call her, a letter of the alphabet.
A letter of the alphabet is a friend who lives a few hours away in a scenic city in a valley and who I've been reconnecting with. (Whom I've been reconnecting with?) Anyways, the point is:
She just created a blog. With a catchy title. From a song I love. And that was it, man. I was sold. I said, "If she's going create a blog (and hey, blogs are a good way to connect with people who live some distance away!) with a catchy title that I should've thought of, from a song I love, then I'm going to create one too. Damn the torpedos."
Somewhere in the distance I can hear my common sense yelling "Don't do it! You have a cold! You're not thinking straight! Don't publish it! Whatever you do, don't press that button...
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